by Jamie Sawyer
All that said, this was one occasion when I was glad to see him and his band of shaved apes. New ambulatory bodies had to be a good thing, whoever was behind the controls.
Phoenix Squad fanned out into the corridor, adding their own plasma fire to ours. The Krell weren’t exactly repelled—there were simply too many of them for that—but they were momentarily rebuffed. That was all the pause we needed.
“Feng, Novak! Get that specimen secured! Move on the beachhead!”
My troopers did as ordered. Ving waved on two of his squad as well; the names MORENTZ and RICHARDS printed on their torso plates. With the strength of their man-amps added to our own, the warden’s stunned body was soon up and moving through the corridor network.
“That was close, Jenkins,” said Ving, over our suit-to-suit comms. “Do you have any idea how important that specimen is?”
“Of course, sir. I’m not stupid.”
“Really? Because it looks a lot like that to me.”
“The asset is secure, and under control.”
“Phoenix Squad should’ve been on point,” he bickered. “I should’ve been in the warden’s chamber.”
I couldn’t help myself as I answered, “Well, you weren’t.”
“Only because you have that damn fish on your squad,” Ving muttered.
He talked as he worked, firing a jet of napalm from his flamethrower, creating a wall of fire beyond us. That was Ving’s trademark weapon; in keeping with his public image as the Phoenixian. He and his squad worked fast and proficiently.
“P’s a Jackal. Don’t talk about it like that.”
Ving shook his head, grimacing behind his face-plate. “I’ll talk about it any way I like. It’s a fish, Jenkins. A fucking xeno.”
“We appreciate the save, sir,” I said, sounding as though I really didn’t appreciate it at all.
“Don’t think for one minute this means I’ve forgotten about what happened at Darkwater.”
“Goes without saying,” I answered, picking off Krell ahead of us, clearing our path.
Darkwater Farm had been FUBAR. The Jackals had assaulted a simulant factory there—colloquially known in Sim Ops as a “farm”—and found Ving and Phoenix Squad running guard duty. We had raided the farm, put Phoenix Squad in evacuation-pods and fired them into deep space. Yeah, I could well see why Ving was still pissed with me. I wasn’t proud of what had happened, of what we had done, but at the time it had been necessary. A lot of bad shit happened at Darkwater, I thought, and tried to repress those memories.
Ving tossed a glare behind us, in Lopez’s direction. She was busily and obliviously fending off Krell from the side-tunnels, making sure that our makeshift convoy wouldn’t face a flank attack.
“We all know why you’re back on the force,” Ving said, with real vitriol. “Don’t forget that I’m watching you. Her father can’t protect you for ever.”
Of course, I hadn’t asked Senator Lopez—now Secretary of Defence for the entire Alliance—to put his neck out for us. But he had done so, and I knew that it had helped. I also knew that the rest of Sim Ops felt we had been given preferential treatment. As far as I was concerned, that just meant we had to try all the harder, to prove to everyone that we could succeed.
“DZ coordinates coming up,” I said. “The end’s in sight, troopers.”
I received new battle-net data with each footfall. The closer we got to the surface, the more assets I detected operating in the vicinity. The Jackals and Phoenix Squad were the only two units in their original simulants; all other squads had suffered extraction and fresh transition. Several teams had been deployed outside Nest Base Gamma.
“Get that specimen outside,” Ving hollered, indiscriminately torching the walls of the nest as he moved. Smoke, thick and noxious, lingered in the air.
Ahead, part of the nest base’s organic wall had opened up: a literal rent in the structure’s outer flank. Light stabbed through, bright as day, then dark again. An explosion; that was what it was. The nest shook with the force of the impact, as a warhead struck the side of the structure.
“The tac fighters are still conducting strafing runs,” Ving said. “It’s the only thing that seems to keep the fishes in check.”
Debris rained down from above, as something ruptured in the deckhead. Meanwhile, the sounds of conflict were increasing. We were close enough now that my suit had detected a recovery beacon: a broad-spectrum data transmission meant to guide any lost souls back to the pick-up point. Of course, that beacon could also be detected by the Krell and they were focusing their efforts on it. I might’ve thought that the Krell were giving it their best in the tunnels, but the fighting was just as intense here.
“Hustle it, Jackals,” I said. “Not far to go.”
“You heard the lady,” Ving said, with emphasis on the last word. “By the numbers, cover our retreat to the DZ.”
Neither squad needed much encouragement beyond that. Both teams fired their extra-vehicular mobility packs. EVAMP thrusters glowed bright blue as troopers vaulted down the tunnel, each soldier covering the other’s movements. The tunnel rose upwards, and through the hole in the wall desiccated jungle was visible.
“Keep that fish protected,” ordered Ving, as his team covered Novak and Feng, the slowest-moving members of the group.
The Krell were everywhere. They teemed up the sides of Nest Base Gamma; lurching out of the jungle, exploding from the swamp. They were an almost uniform mass of living ammunition, enveloping everything in their way.
“Threat level critical,” Ving said.
“I think we can see that for ourselves,” Lopez muttered.
“Then why are you still standing around here jawing?” Ving spat. “Get your asses outside and to the evac point!”
Graphics on my HUD told me that the beachhead was somewhere below us. The outer walls of the nest base rapidly inclined towards the swamps. That was where the fighting was at its thickest, and getting down there was the only way we were going to get the warden off this planet.
The beleaguered science team was composed of a dozen Sci-Div officers in hazmat suits. They worked beneath the blue umbrella of the null-shield, and although there were dead thralls piled around the perimeter, the team wasn’t going to hold out much longer. The null-shield was on the verge of collapse, such was the volume of energy-fire it was absorbing. In the middle of the null-shield sat the Wildcat. The shuttle’s Aerospace Force crew were already buttoned up, but the shuttle’s rear cargo bay was open, waiting to receive the asset.
Around us, other simulant teams appeared from openings in the nest base’s honeycombed walls. There were more explosions, and more warnings on my HUD. TAC-FIGHTER SUPPORT OFFLINE, my suit’s AI told me. The nest base rumbled, and Needlers screamed by overhead. We bounced down the nest base, under heavy fire from every direction.
“Heads down!” yelled a trooper in a battered combat-suit.
I recognised Reed, and his Rippers, huddled behind a box of ammo crates. The corporal’s eyes were wild, verging on panic, and he cycled the launcher on his battle-rifle: throwing grenades out into the swamp in lazy arcs. Although the backwash of the multiple detonations sent shrapnel across the landing site, it kept the Krell at bay.
“So you made it, green?” Lopez asked.
“Uh, yeah, ma’am,” Reed muttered. “We made it.”
Novak looked unconvinced. “How many times you die, soldier?”
“Six,” said Reed, laying down plasma into another clutch of thralls. “Six times.”
We’d only been on Vektah Minor for twenty minutes. Six extractions in that space of time was tough going for even a veteran sim operator. I could read the horror of it on the troopers’ faces. They, along with the remainder of the Sci-Div security detail, were a disorganised rabble. The veneer of military discipline had been more or less completely eradicated by the magnitude of the Krell’s response.
“Troopers, do you have the specimen?” asked a voice.
It came from
a man with a shaved head, wearing a white non-combatant power suit that denoted his rank as a Sci-Div officer. Another officer—a woman, with the same air of anxious interest—appeared to evaluate the warden.
“What does it look like?” Ving spat back, as Feng, Novak and Phoenix Squad hauled ass under the null-shield.
“It is alive, yes?” enquired Science Woman.
“It should be,” I said.
“It must be!” said Science Man. “That is crucial to this operation!”
“It is alive,” intoned P. “It is in pain, but it is alive.”
Both science officers wore sensor-visors over their upper faces. They paused, scanning the specimen; focused very intently on gathering intel, even if the rest of the operation was turning to shit around them.
“It is injured,” said Science Man. “Is that a shock-baton burn?”
“Yes,” agreed Science Woman. She pointed out blackened flesh on the warden’s twitching leg. “Most regrettable. That injury could be serious.”
“We did our best,” I argued. “The recovery wasn’t straightforward.”
“It’s imperative that the specimen is healthy if we are to—”
Science Man’s head exploded in a shower of gore and brain matter; body crumpling. Bone-shards from a bio-weapon peppered the null-shield, penetrating it in places. The woman next to Science Man looked down at her armour—now streaked bright red—and started wailing. Of course, it didn’t matter. The Sci-Div team were using next-gen skins; not combat-rated, but better than real death.
“I can’t hold this much longer!” Feng yelled, struggling to handle the warden. The enormous fish had started to shift in the net again.
“Phoenix Squad, secure the specimen,” Ving ordered. “Jackals, cover the retreat.”
Ving turned his flamethrower on the Krell advance, and torched them all. The heat was so intense I could feel it through my combat-suit. Still-smoking warrior-forms threw themselves at us.
The science team flocked around Phoenix Squad, as they dragged the warden-form towards the shuttle. They set about the warden, securing it in place with archaic-looking metal clamps. The Wildcat’s cargo bay was barebones and sterile; everything not essential to the operation had been removed.
The Krell redoubled their efforts at that point, realising that their revered warden was about to be captured. They threw themselves at the null-shield, shrieking, screaming, caterwauling.
“Fall back to the shuttle,” I said. “There’s nothing else that we can do here.”
“That’s a negative,” Ving muttered. “Jackals, stay where you are. Get onto the ship, you damned fish head!”
This time Ving wasn’t talking about the warden. He pointed his flamer at P.
“We are a Jackal,” P said. “Our squad requires assistance.”
“I don’t want to give the order twice, fish,” Ving snarled. “We’re leaving, with or without you.”
“Just go, P!” I ordered.
With marked reluctance, Pariah clambered onto the ship. It kept firing on the infected Krell, and I knew it didn’t want to leave us.
“What are you doing, Ving?” Lopez asked, half turning towards the Wildcat. Final lift-prep was underway, and the Jackals weren’t on the shuttle.
“Cover the retreat,” Ving repeated, more firmly this time. “The warden-form is coming with us.”
“But that’s our asset!” Lopez protested.
“It’s an Alliance asset,” Ving countered. “Which Phoenix Squad has just successfully recovered.” He smiled a perfect grin at me. “Pilot, we’re cleared for evacuation. Get us out of here.”
“If you’re sure, sir…” the pilot queried.
The Wildcat’s ramp shut. Its VTOL engines ignited, sending out a backwash of fire that roasted many of the advancing Krell. I put a hand to my face, watched as the ship gained altitude. The Krell had almost lost interest in the Jackals. They vaulted for the shuttle. Some grabbed the hull, and were thrown clear as it accelerated. Another wave of heat rolled over me, set off my armour’s safety alerts.
“So that’s it, huh?” Lopez said. Her voice was weary, tired. “Phoenix Squad gets the glory, and we get left behind?”
“Looks that way,” Novak said.
The beachhead was in ruins. Bodies, both alien and simulant, were strewn everywhere. Some were still alive—badly injured, but not yet put out of their misery. The Krell, I noticed, were dragging some of the simulants back into the nest. Somewhere to my left, the remainder of the security detail were being torn apart. Reed and his Rippers went with them, consumed by the tide of Krell. The infected thralls were like rabid dogs, a mass of scything limbs and outstretched claws. Bio-fire sprayed the area, angry as all hell.
An uplink icon flashed on my HUD.
“We’ve got comms to the Providence,” I said.
“A fat lot of good that will do us…” Lopez complained.
“Zero, do you read?” I said, into my communicator.
“We read, ma’am,” came Zero’s voice. “There aren’t many Sim Ops teams still operational down there.”
Feng shook his head. “First in, last out.”
“Every time,” Novak said.
“Asset is inbound, Zero,” I said. “Mission accomplished.”
The shuttle was gone. Before it had even made safe distance from the nest base, it hit hard burn. It left a smear of light across the sky as it went.
“The Providence has Angel Ten on the grid,” said Zero, no doubt reading data directly from the ship’s bridge. “Ready to receive the package.”
“Good. Initiate code hammer fall.”
“Copy that. Initiate hammer fall. Do you have anvil?”
“I am anvil,” I said. “Fire everything you’ve got on my position.”
This was a formality; requisite authorisation for the deployment of plasma warheads. Even as the words were spoken, I knew that somewhere up there in orbit—aboard the Providence—missile tubes were being loaded, and firing solutions locked.
“Confirm that you are senior officer in theatre,” said Zero, her voice dropping into an officious tone.
“Confirm.”
“Execute.”
I thought briefly of those sorry bastards in the communion chamber; webbed and wired into the Deep. They had asked for it, sure, but no one—Spiral or otherwise—deserved that sort of an existence. The canister. The memory was dislodged by recall of the communion chamber.
“Z, stay on the line,” I ordered. “Lopez, keep me covered.”
“I’ll try,” said Lopez.
Lopez’s plasma rifle was firing on full-automatic, spitting bright pulses all around. All of our energy weapons were smoking ominously, approaching the end of their operational life. A lot like the simulants, I guess.
I plucked the canister from my belt pouch. Turned it over in hands that were slick with Krell blood, fluid that probably swam with the Harbinger virus…
“You still reading me, Zero?”
“I copy.”
“I’m sending you an image.”
The camera mounted on the left side of my tactical-helmet snapped an image of the canister, and I thought-commanded a transmission back to the Providence. But not just to the Providence; directly to Zero’s station, double-encrypted. Her eyes only.
“What is it?” she queried.
A counter appeared in the corner of my HUD.
HAMMER FALL PROTOCOL IN T MINUS 30 SECONDS…
“I don’t know. Something we found in the communion chamber, inside Nest Base Gamma.”
“Is that a serial code?” Zero queried.
“I think it might be. Run checks on it for me.”
“Solid copy.”
HAMMER FALL PROTOCOL IN T MINUS 20 SECONDS…
“Looks like we’re out of time,” I said. “Sayonara, kemosabe.”
“Zero out.”
There was a single dot of light on the horizon, burning through the cloud cover. Feng whooped in delight as he realised what was h
appening. We were going down, but we were going to take out a good chunk of this continent with us. The Jackals had involuntarily gone back to back, a tight circle now.
“Good job, troopers,” I said.
Then the hammer fell, and everything was obliterated in the force of the explosion.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALL GUTS, NO GLORY
EXTRACTION CONFIRMED.
The neural-link severed, and in an instant the simulation collapsed.
Nest Base Gamma was wiped from Vektah’s surface by a plasma barrage, and the Jackals along with it. That triggered a rapid extraction event and sent the Jackals back to the simulator-tanks. It did just the same for every other trooper or Sci-Div operator trapped on the planet and ended the assault phase of the Vektah Minor operation.
I prised my eyes open and took in the Simulant Operations Centre. Although I’d served on numerous strikeships in my time as a simulant operator, what I saw was on a completely different scale. Everyone, and everything, on the operation had been expendable: there had been no real-skin casualties whatsoever. The Providence’s SOC contained twenty individual bays, each capable of holding a simulant squad. Some were vets, others were green. The away team had included personnel who weren’t even properly designated for a simulant operation. Those included the Sci-Div crew, who were uniformly vomiting, shaking, and rocking as a result of the extraction. You can fit almost anyone—except for negatives—with data-ports, but that doesn’t make them an operator: not everyone is made for Sim Ops.
I slammed the PURGE command on my simulator-tank. The gel-like fluid holding me in place swirled away, leaving me shivering with the sudden cold. The tank’s canopy popped open, and I yanked at the cables connected to my data-ports. I clambered free, wearing nothing but my dog tags.
Zero appeared in front of my tank, data-slate in hand, blocking my path. She was small, slight and a little delicate-looking; her ginger hair escaping in loose strands from a ponytail, her freckled face showing signs of anxiety.
“Objective achieved,” she said, with a tight grimace. “Command confirms that all Alliance forces are retreating out-system. That was a good result. Well done.”
“You saw what happened, right?” I asked, without any preamble.